


Lady's-Mantle

by feyreofthewildfire



Series: Vibrant Bouquets AU [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Sick Fic, cassian works in elain's flower shop, continuation of blue hydrangeas, fluff fluff, nesta is a tattooist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyreofthewildfire/pseuds/feyreofthewildfire
Summary: “Elain?” She calls before she even sees the counter.“Sorry, sweetheart. Your sister already went out with A—Woah,” Cassian answers instead, jumping over the counter and nearly knocking over the new bouquet he was working on with the smooth, flawless action. “Are you okay?”-Nesta's not sick.





	Lady's-Mantle

**Author's Note:**

> i think this one is just cute

She’s so tired.

Nesta had spent the last two hours tattooing intricately colored flowers around her latest client’s ankles, so intricate that they seemed lifelike. It was astounding work that she had to post on her Facebook page, but she would save that for later. After she got lunch. And coffee. 

She’d been plagued by some sort of sickness or flu or fever. Whatever it was, it had kept her from sleeping properly. In fact, she’d been forced to resort to drinking disgusting NyQuil before bed to fall asleep. Stupid, of course, but necessary for sleep. Even with the forced rest, she still woke every morning more tired than when she had gone to bed the night before. 

The way she walks into  _ Elain’s Flowers _ is more of a stumble than actual walking, the flats adorning her feet slapping against the linoleum flooring. A dissonance of smells immediately greets her, something she would usually revel in giving her a headache. 

“Elain?” She calls before she even sees the counter. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Your sister already went out with A—Woah,” Cassian answers instead, jumping over the counter and nearly knocking over the new bouquet he was working on with the smooth, flawless action. “Are you okay?” 

“Perfect. I was just hoping to get lunch with my sister.” She begins to take a step away from him, from his hesitantly outstretched hands. “I’ll get go—” Her stomach flips, vision going blurry as she takes an unbalanced step forward, directly into his chest. 

“Definitely not okay.” He retorts, keeping a light, steadying hand on her side as he flips the sign on the door, labeled with a cheery ‘We’ll Be Back Soon!’

He supports most of her weight as she stumbles beside him to the counter, where he lifts her up to sit on it. “How are you functioning?” He tsks, resting the back of his hand on her forehead for a moment despite her attempts to bat him away. “Stay there. I’ll brew you some tea.” 

Nesta doesn’t even have it in her to argue with him when he walks away, instead leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and balancing her head in her hands. A sledgehammer slams into her temples every few seconds, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to stop the tilting of the room. 

She lifts her head at the sound of footsteps, greeted with the sight of Cassian holding a mug of tea, sleeves of his black sweater pushed up to his elbows in a way that makes her heart flutter a little. She’s always enjoyed a man in a sweater.

“Take this.” He hands her the mug of tea, instantly warming her hands and, slowly, the rest of her. “Do you have any more appointments today?” He asks, pushing away the half-finished bouquet.

“Yeah. They’re on my phone. I think I have three or four.” 

“I’ll call and cancel for you.”

She points a glare at him, even though it makes her headache worse, “I’ll be fine. I’ll finish this, get some food and be on my way.” 

“You are in no shape to be inking people today. Reschedule them.”

Every part of her wants to argue with him. He has no business telling her what to do, even if he had a point. They barely knew each other. They’d exchanged aggravatingly witty banter a few times when she’d come to steal Elain away for lunch, sure, but not enough to warrant his intrusion into her literal business.

Still, she knows he’s right. It’s a horrifying thought. 

She takes a slow, calming sip of her tea before answering. “Fine. I’ll call them.” 

The small frown that appears on his face tells her that he’d rather that he called instead but the last thing she needs is people associating him with her independent shop. It’s part of her marketing. 

With the last sip, she hands the mug back to him, an obvious dismissal as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and checks her calendar, pulling up client numbers and dialing them up.

Surprisingly, all of them are strangely understanding. They wish her a fast healing and promise to reschedule their appointments with minimal protests. All four of her calls are done in ten minutes, not counting the emails she sends them for the aforementioned rescheduling, even with the coughing fit she falls into halfway through the third one.

Cassian returns with a refilled mug, though doesn’t immediately hand it to her. “Can you walk?”

Neglecting to answer, she jumps off the counter, only to immediately regret it as her legs wobble and she throws an arm back to steady herself. 

Without preamble he sets the steaming mug on the counter and slowly so that she can push him away if she chooses to, slides his arms under her knees and behind her back, picking her up in a flawless motion.

“Grab the tea,” He commands in a way that makes her want to say no—if only just to aggravate him. But she’s so tired and he’s incredibly warm, so she picks up the drink without protest and leans her head against his shoulder, shutting her eyes.

It seems she dozes off because it feels just moments later when she opens her eyes, only to realize that she’s lying on the couch of Elain’s apartment above the shop, blanket covering her and a glass of water and two Advil on the coffee table in front of her.

As she chucks the Advil down her throat, she fumbles for her phone out of her back pocket to try and check the time. A stark 3:57 stares back at her, telling her that she’d been sleeping for at least three and a half, if not four hours. It doesn’t help that the sun has mostly set already, the last few rays barely peaking over the horizon. 

She sits up, cocooning herself in the fleecy blanket and grabbing the remote from where it sits, turning on Elain’s hand-me-down TV to try and find  _ something _ to watch. Nesta doesn’t even have the energy to get up and put in a movie, even though nothing in Elain’s library really interests her. 

Luckily, there’s a marathon of Friends going on that’s perfect for background noise as she tries to respond to emails and schedule appointments on her phone, even though the light worsens the headache that had mostly faded away at that point. 

She’s so engrossed in her work that she doesn’t hear the footfalls coming up the stairs until the door opens and Cassian pops his head in. He stops for a moment, seemingly surprised that she’s awake, before frowning and waltzing over to pluck her phone from her hands, shut it off and set it on the table beside the half-empty glass of water. 

“Excuse me?” She snips, though the effect is ruined by the raspiness of her voice. 

“You’re sick,” he retorts as if that is enough explanation.

Nesta tilts her head back against the couch, giving up on any kind of argument. When she lifts her head again it’s to the nostalgic smell of homemade chicken noodle soup. It reminds her of her childhood, enough so that she snaps her eyes open in shock. There is no way Elain had the recipe. 

Before Cassian can even speak, she’s grabbing for the bowl in his hands, greedily taking a sip with the large soup spoon that Elain keeps for ramen and the very, very rare occasion she has time to make pho.

She’s catapulted back to seven years old, lying sick in bed and being spoonfed soup by her mother. It’s not exact, of course, but it’s so damn close that she has no words. Not even to make fun of the barely concealed surprised look on Cassian’s face.

“This is exactly like my mother’s,” she murmurs. There’s a strange sort of understanding that flits across his face. She’s sure that no one’s told him the story, but he’s a smart man. She’s sure he’s figured part of it out, at least, especially after it’d just been the three sisters for Thanksgiving a few weeks ago. 

“Glad you like it. You’re lucky I still had some refrigerated from when Rhys’ sister got sick last week.” He replies, sitting down beside her on the couch a healthy distance away. 

She blinks once, taking a moment to process the information. “This is yours?”

“I dabble,” he says dismissively. “It was Rhys’ mother’s recipe, actually. She used to make it every time one of us got sick. I make it now.”

“Thank you.” The words fall from her lips before she realizes what they are. “For making me take a sick day.”

“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good. Someone had to knock some sense into you.” 

Nesta rolls her eyes and sets the now empty bowl on the table, scooting closer to him. “You’re insufferable.” 

“Maybe, sweetheart, but you already said thank you.” He quips, draping an arm across the back of the couch.

She hesitantly lays her head on his shoulder, her side flush with his. He’s warm and the fabric of his sweater is soft. It’s not her fault.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on tumblr @feyreofthewildfire  
> kudos and comments give me the motivation to get through the piles of homework and write! warning: i tend to word vomit in my responses  
> have a lovely, lovely day!


End file.
